


Sew Much More Than Grand

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Sub Sam, Witches, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Sam's got a feeling the Grand folks aren't the only witch family in town. But when he investigates Fergus Crowley's upscale tailor shop, he finds something he didn't even realize he needed.





	Sew Much More Than Grand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaindy/gifts).



> Prompt fill for Rowena > Sam.

It was a milk run, as Dean would say. But only in that, when Sam got to the store, he realized there were so many other things he needed.

Dean and Garth were at the other place, dealing with the little coven of nasties who seemed to think the reputation of their upscale boutique and tailor shop was worth killing for. But Sam wanted to take one more look into the competitor who had been targeted. He just didn't think that Crowley guy was as innocent as he pretended. Certainly he had been exasperated and horrified about the witches. “They ate my tailor!” he had shrieked, and no one could fake anger like that. But Sam had also been certain that Fergus Crowley had not been shocked, only furious, to find that his shop was being attacked by true dark magic. In Sam's vast experience, most victims found things like that at least a little difficult to believe.

Garth had called them in for the job when he had tried to get a dress custom made for his wife for their anniversary and had smelled something very wrong at Sew Grand, the area’s most expensive and pretentious boutique. On the morning before Sam and Dean had arrived on the scene, the apprentice tailor at the rival business across town, Mega, had gone missing, only to turn up later with bits of his organs ripped out for spellwork.

It was the wording that had bothered and nagged at Sam. “They ate my tailor.” He had brought it up to Dean. “How did Crowley know part of the spellwork had to do with consuming the flesh of the victim? That's a pretty dark, powerful spell. But we never told him the guy's organs were part of a spell requiring consumption.”

Dean had looked a little ill. “Dude. I'm eating.”

“And I've been off meat since we started this job. Join the club.”

His brother sighed at his burger, then shrugged and took another bite. “No reason to starve just because some poor bastard donated a kidney for an ancient spell against his boss.”

Sam had made a face, but continued. “Point is, Crowley knew, or guessed, that the witches had eaten the guy for the magic. That seem right to you?”

Green eyes lifted to stare at him. “Dude, none of this seems right to me. They're witches, man. Freaking disgusting.”

“Okay, well, you and Garth go clean out the Grand Coven. I'm going to make sure there's no Mega Coven too.”

Dean groaned. “Witch wars. Hate that. The Starks were bad enough. Know what I wish? I wish there were some Alpha Witch out there that I could put a blade through and call it a day. Weaken all the little skeevy baby witches all over the world. Wouldn't that be awesome?”

Sam patted his brother's arm. “Keep the dream alive, man.”

And now he was standing outside a shop, looking around for signs of weird or weirding, when at last the door opened. By itself.

He sighed, and pulled his gun. He held it in both hands, lowered but ready, as he stepped carefully into the shop on long legs. “Hello?” he called. “Crowley?”

It wasn't the accent he had expected. Instead, it was a different, more intriguing one. “Fergus has stepped out for the rest of the evening. Some business to attend to. Can I help ya?”

Sam kept his weapon low, and took a deep breath in through his nose. There was incense burning somewhere nearby. “Who are you?” he called out.

“His majesty’s mother,” the voice said dryly. “I live down below the wee shop. Come in. I don't often take visitors, but I'll make an exception for a strapping lad such as yourself.”

He holstered his gun, and looked around the shop. His gaze fell on a door that he had not noticed when he had sought hexbags in the place yesterday. Which meant someone hadn't wanted him to see it. Which meant witches.

“That's right. You're a curious little thing. Not little,” she corrected with a laugh. “Beastly thing, I should say.”

Sam opened the door warily, and descended the stairs, running through his inventory on witch-killing bullets and other various weapons at his disposal, including his bare hands. There was more than one time in his past that he had survived an attack by a spellcaster simply in thanks to his brute strength, iron will and sharp wit. They were, after all, his most reliable weapons.

The room below was decorated in rich, dark colors. Fabrics of all sorts were draped across every surface, all in a different state of mending or creation. At the center of it all sat a petite, incredibly beautiful ginger, with her pale hands folded in her lap delicately. Her gaze lifted slowly to take in his entire body in a way that made Sam feel as though he were being tasted.

“You...you're Crowley’s mother.”

“I'm a great deal more than that, Samuel.”

His breath caught in his throat. He hated to be called Samuel nearly as much as he bristled at Sammy, especially since meeting-and killing-his grandfather. But this woman said it with such seductive command that he didn't dare correct her. He could feel power radiating from her in waves, even as she sat as sweet as could be, surrounded in the lovely fabrics of her trade. It made him take in a shuddered breath.

This made her smile primly. “My name is Rowena. But these days, I sometimes prefer Ro.”

“And I prefer Sam,” he forced out.

Her smile seemed to be hiding fangs now. “I know,” she murmured. “Samuel.”

“How do you know my name anyway?”

“Oh. Because you know it,” she said simply. “And because I wanted to know it.” Then she laughed a little. “You should take that as a compliment, you know. I generally don't care.”

“Just like you don't generally take visitors.”

Rowena smirked. “Aye. Like that.”

“So mind-reading? That what we're talking about?”

“Just dusting off some old talents. Cannae let them go rusty, now can I?”

He swallowed. There was something incredibly fascinating about this woman's utter lack of concern, considering that she must know he was there to kill witches, and that clearly included her.

“Oh, you are a beautiful, silly brute.” At last, she stood, letting her sewing fall to the floor without a glance. Her black skirts were laced all over in gold and red roses, her small breasts hidden in a blood red corset with gold piping. But the part that made Sam's whole body react was when she stepped over the fabric on the floor to reveal bare dancer’s feet, pointed at the toes. “You think I'm afraid of a big, strong gent like you? I'm an artist, Samuel.”

“You're a witch.”

She smiled, and bowed her head smugly. “Aye. But a dear, ancient friend of mine once said that we come in different flavors. Haven't seen her in centuries, but I think of her from time to time. I do love a powerful woman.”

Sam's eyes lowered against his intentions.

There was amusement in her voice now. “Ah, I see. So do you. Now isn't that a lovely thing? Samuel, I read you the minute I saw you, no craft necessary. And I can see that you've learned that the line between good and evil is quite flexible. You're not one for blind devotion to a cause.” She squinted at him. “Unless...unless that cause is your hunting partner. Ah. Your brother, I think. Oh, Samuel. The things you would do to save him? They make me shiver.” She lowered her voice to something of a false whisper. “But not in a bad way.”

“I'm not going to apologize for things I've done to keep my brother safe.”

“Nor should ya!” she insisted. “As I said, flexible.” She took another step toward him, angling her neck to watch him.

He couldn't help staring at her pale throat.

“I'm a touch more interested in the things you do to keep yourself safe.”

The frown came like a flinch to his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Rowena's smile was intoxicating. He wanted to breathe it in, bathe in it. “You keep yourself safe by pushing away desires. They burst out from you now and then, but you try to leash them.”

His mouth was dry, and he was breathing too shallowly. “Are you...doing something to me?”

“I would say no. But I can hear your heartbeat from here, so the answer is clearly yes.”

“No, I…” His face burned red in humiliation, and he let his training take over where his mind failed him. He raised his gun.

She continued to smile. “It's all right, love. You're hardly the first man I've ever frightened.”

Sam stared down at her with rising confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I'm taking control of your leash,” she breathed. “Which is exactly what you want me to do.”

The long gasp and trembling sigh escaped his lips, dragging out the tiniest whimper of fear with it. “A spell?”

“No need. The magic is all in being exactly what you need.”

He did his best to sneer at her. “How would you know what I need?”

Her whispered words slammed the door behind him, but he could not even look away from her claiming stare. “Truly powerful women always know, Samuel.”

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

“Understand this, hunter,” she hissed up at him. “We can fight to the death when I've finished, if you like. But that line between good and evil? For a little while, that will disappear, and you'll not be given the chance to wonder if what you're doing is right or wrong. You'll only consider what I've demanded of you. And that begins now. You've leashed yourself, love. But now I hold that leash, and you're to let go into my care. Do you understand? Kneel.”

Sam's heart pounded in his chest. He had never known anyone like her before. And this wasn't spellwork. This wasn't against his will. God help him, this was exactly what he tried not to want. His whole life, he had been manipulated by monsters and people. He had been forced to wrestle back control from the most powerful beings in the universe. Somewhere in him, a fantasy had simmered, just below the surface, whispering from behind his ear. He had to fight, his whole life, for control.

It would be such a release to give it up, just once.

He couldn't trust her. But he could feel her. And he could feel the power from her, the potential.

Sam closed his eyes, felt himself lower down to his knees, the rush of exhilaration filling him as he defied every survival instinct he had, every demand from the hunter inside him. His blood burned through him as he hushed that part of him, the one screaming at him to get up and fight.

A gentle, firm hand claimed his hair. “Good boy, Samuel,” the witch purred. “That's a good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love prompts and I love comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
